Chapter 16 - The Aftermath of Betrayal
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“Vincent, wait,” Elena pleaded, holding her hands up, the cruel arrogance entirely vanishing from her face. She backed into the corner, slipping on the wet, foam-covered hardwood floor. “It was Marco’s idea. He came to me! He told me you were weak, he wanted to take the syndicate. I can help you, Vince. I still have contacts in New York.”
Vincent stopped a few feet away from her. The flames were gone, but the fire inside him was burning hotter than ever. Only this time, it was a fire of his own making.
“You stood outside the glass and smiled,” Vincent whispered, his voice echoing in the dead silence of the ruined penthouse. “For eleven years, I saw that smile every time I closed my eyes.”
“I was young, I was stupid,” she sobbed, sinking to her knees, looking pathetic and small. “Please. You loved me once. Don't do this.”
Vincent looked down at her, his expression utterly devoid of pity.
“I didn't love you,” Vincent said coldly. “I loved an illusion. The real you is just ash.”
He didn't raise his gun. He didn't shoot her. He simply turned his back on her and looked at Silas.
“Take her to the warehouse at the docks,” Vincent ordered, his voice flat and authoritative. “Call the heads of the Italian and Russian families. Tell them I am gifting them the woman who has been trying to instigate a war in their territories. Let them deal with her.”
Elena screamed, a sound of absolute, horrifying realization. Being handed over to the rival syndicates for her manipulations was a fate infinitely worse than a quick bullet.
“No! Vincent, shoot me! Shoot me yourself!” she shrieked as Silas and two massive guards dragged her kicking and screaming out of the penthouse.
Vincent didn't look back. He holstered his weapon and walked through the wreckage, straight toward me.
I was leaning against the wall, shaking from the adrenaline crash, my scrubs covered in fire retardant and soot.
He stopped in front of me, his gray eyes softening into something so profound it made my breath hitch. He reached out, gently wiping a smudge of soot from my cheek.
“You didn't stay in the panic room,” he murmured.
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“I told you,” I whispered, looking up at him. “I’m your nurse. Defending you is my job.”
He leaned down, pressing his lips gently against my forehead. “You are so much more than that, Nora.”
